Under the cover of darkness, a car pulls up to the front of ShadJackBlack's shack (which is so much more fun to say than the supposedly fun tango with lingo "ATF, DEA, LAPD, and Customs," and also, ShadJackBlack's shack is a little old place where we can together). Taudrey bangs, bangs, bangs on the door, baby -- except that she just walks right in -- to find ShadJackBlack listening to Bible passages and adding pieces to an art project of some kind that appears to be The Shoebox Diorama Of The Damned. ShadJackBlack turns off Ezekiel 25:17 and announces crazily, "Mary, Mary, quite contrary." She approaches him, wasting no time before launching in: "Where is it, Shadrack? There was something else in the bag with that money." Knock a little louder, sugar, I don't think there's anyone in there. She continues the linear conversational path that only tends to work on those not in the process of affixing a baby's head to a bicycle tire and musing, "I'm sure he's just going to love this!" but she ignores the reality that his tin roof is clearly rusted, all but begging, "I know it's a book, and I know it's the only thing that will ever get me out of here and keep me safe." ShadJackBlack bellows that she "knows nothing," and he spits back, "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth," blowing the glitter in the hallway into a veritable tornado as Taudrey hops in her Chrysler (it's as big as a whale) and sets sail away from crazy unhelpful guy.
Vintagemobile, where Pawn rides shotgun and Jim continues to fill in the blanks: "None of this explains why the Versailles pays out 62 percent of the time. There has to be more to this." Pawn fast-talks in that noir-ish "News on the March" kind of way that's cut down many a skilled Gilmore Girls recapper in her time, vamping, "My job is to take down Dwight Sloman. That's what the Treasury Department has deemed the most important step of this investigation, and that is exactly what I plan to do. And what I don't need is some freakish IRS agent with his own agenda stirring the pot." Her unwillingness to go over the edge with an exclamatory "see" after every word, coupled with her completely correct characterization of Jim's almost autistic love for justice and numbers as "freakish," are causing me to warm to Pawn. And have I mentioned that I'm pleased she's dropped the accent? He asks, "So what's the sting?" She smirks knowingly, staring into the bleached-white blue screen that stretches before them, answering, "It's right in front of you, Jim." The, um, craft services table? There's not even the slightest conceit that they're on an actual road. I think they're even bouncing up and down on their own accord, like the passengers in the opening train sequence of The Music Man. But what's "right in front of him" is a billboard reading, "Nevada State Lotto!" for which the current jackpot is $26,000,000 and the tagline is, oddly, "Everybody wins, especially our schools." And it's also in quotes on the sign, attributed to no one. Maybe it's being sarcastic: "Everybody" "wins," "especially" "our" "schools." That is, if kindly Principal Weatherbee buys himself a ticket and gets lucky with the supplemental number. Because if I'm holding the golden ticket when the numbers are announced, you'd better believe that everybody wins, especially if you're me or the guy who sells small Caribbean islands or the jet that's chartered to take me away from all this forever and ever and ever. Oh, and schools. I'm sure I'd also give some to the schools.